


The Runaway Bride

by Keira_63



Series: The Queen & Her Lord M [22]
Category: ITV Victoria, ITV Victoria (2016), Victoria (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brocket Hall, Brocket Hall proposal take two, Episode Fix-it: s01 e05 An Ordinary Woman, Episode: s01e05 An Ordinary Woman, F/M, Happy Ending, Lord M POV, Love, Older Man/Younger Woman, Requited Love, Runaway Bride, Skerrett ships Vicbourne, Spoilers for Episode: s01 e05 An Ordinary Woman, Vicbourne, Victoria POV, Victoria leaves Albert at the altar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 13:51:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12170163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keira_63/pseuds/Keira_63
Summary: The groom waits, the guests have arrived, the watching crowd grows restless outside, and the bride … the bride does not appear.





	The Runaway Bride

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the historical characters in Victoria nor do I own the TV series which was written by Daisy Goodwin. Any lines from the show are also not mine and are just borrowed from Daisy Goodwin and ITV Victoria. Any recognisable lines belong to Daisy Goodwin and the TV series.

Victoria cannot breathe.

Her throat feels like it is closed up, her pulse is racing, and the only sounds she can make are choking gasps.

She is getting married today.

 

She does not look like a bride should.

There are dark smudges under her eyes from a lack of sleep and she has been biting her bottom lip so much these past few hours that she is surprised it isn’t a bloody mess.

Nerves are normal, she has heard, but she does not think it should feel like _this_.

 

She thought she could do this, thought that her attraction to Albert could be the basis on which to build something more solid.

But she knows now that physical attraction alone cannot make a relationship work.

She and Albert want such different things from this marriage, she thinks, and though she is sure there is nothing wrong with the occasional argument she does not want her married life to be a constant war over Albert’s role and the power he wants (but she cannot and will not give to him).

She senses too that he does not love her, that he is going through with this more out of a sense of duty than any sentimental feeling. He is going to marry her and yet she knows he still usually thinks her a frivolous, foolish thing, still does not understand her the way he should.

… the way Lord M understands her.

 

And that is the crux of the matter.

Albert is not Lord M.

She has tried to love her cousin, has truly made an effort, but he will never be Lord M.

Albert does not love her but she cannot really blame him, for she does not love him either.

 

The difference is that Albert will go through with this wedding no matter his personal feelings.

Victoria does not know if she can do the same.

She is well aware of her duty to her country and her people, and she wants so much to be a good Queen, to be loved by her people.

Royal marriages, after all, are made for alliances and not love.

She, however, has always wanted to have the sort of happy marriage she has so rarely witnessed, to know that no matter how difficult her duties might become, there will always be someone with her who is on her side.

For being Queen, she has learnt, is not just balls and jewels and power … it is hard work and sacrifice and learning to smile and wave even when you only want to cry.

And she cannot do it alone. She needs to have a true partner. Albert, she fears, will never be that for her.

 

She looks at her wedding dress laid out on her bed, a beautiful masterpiece but a stark reminder of the choice she has to make.

Perhaps she is as flighty as Albert believes, choosing the very morning of her wedding to have second thoughts.

Yet has she not been uneasy throughout her engagement? Enraptured by Albert, that is true, but such a thing is only surface dazzle and she knows, deep down, that even as she was proposing she considered Albert a second choice, a substitute for the man she could not have.

Albert has his faults, but he deserves better than that.

They both deserve their chance at happiness.

 

Victoria looks up, startled, at a knock on her door.

“Enter,” she says distractedly, looking into the mirror and deciding there is nothing that can be done to make her look more cheerful and less like the emotional wreck she feels.

Skerrett enters, hands full of hairpins and what appears to be Victoria’s veil, “Mrs Jenkins will be along shortly, Ma’am, she is just seeing to the bridesmaids. I can start with your hair if you would like.”

 

What Victoria should probably do is nod. She should sit and have her hair fixed, then put on her dress and go to marry a prince who everyone believes to be an infinitely more suitable prospect that the man she truly loves.

But she does not.

 

“Skerrett,” she says with a determined look on her face, “I do not believe I will be needing this dress today. Could you please fetch one of my usual day dresses – any of them will do.”

Skerrett only nods and Victoria has never been more thankful for her discreet dresser.

“Shall I do your hair too, Ma’am, perhaps in a braid?”

Victoria shakes her head. There just isn’t enough time, not if she wants to make it out of the palace before anyone realises what is happening.

“No thank you, Skerrett,” she replies, “I will just brush it a little. When you return with a dress I will have some notes that must be delivered to the Chapel Royal at St James’s Palace as soon as possible.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

 

Skerrett curtsies and then hurries out of the room, while Victoria slumps inelegantly into the chair in front of her desk.

She has made her mind up and will not be getting married.

Now all she has to do is sneak out of Buckingham Palace, find a way to persuade the man she truly loves to put aside his many (noble and well-meaning) scruples and face a political storm to marry her, and work out how exactly to break the news of her decision to Albert, mama and a host of important guests.

She picks up her pen, pulls a clean sheet of paper towards her and, after a few moments of thought, begins writing frantically.

 

* * *

The Windsor uniform is always a cumbersome thing, though it does look magnificent, but today it feels more restricting than ever to William. And with the Sword of State making his arms ache (because if he tried to put it down for a few moments he knows there would be tuts of disapproval) he is not enjoying the day much so far.

It will only get worse, though. Because the Queen is getting married and his heart is breaking.

He knows he should be pleased that she is happy, for that is all he has ever wanted for her, but it is all so rushed, so soon.

He thought he would have more time.

 

He watches the Prince stood stiffly at the altar and cannot help the dislike that bubbles up within him. It is wrong, of course, for the Prince is a good man with many talents despite his faults, and William knows his feelings towards the Queen’s husband-to-be are motivated at least partly by jealousy.

If he can just see her, see a genuine smile and know that she loves the Prince, then he thinks he will be satisfied.

Then it will be a little easier to bear losing her.

 

The wait is getting to him, though.

He has been here for an hour already, has watched the Chapel Royal fill up and heard the crowd outside chatter excitedly about the spectacles to come.

He has broken the tedium a little by talking with the Duke of Sussex, who waits with William as he will be escorting the Queen down the aisle. Sussex is an interesting enough conversationalist (if rather odd) and certainly a sight better than the Duke of Cumberland, but William finds himself desperate for the Queen’s arrival, if only to put an end to the waiting that keeps him in a sort of limbo.

He dreads the moment the vows are complete and the Queen and Prince Albert are truly married, but at least it will be over then and he will be able to escape to Brocket Hall to try and distract himself.

He wonders, though, if distance will make a difference.

The Queen, and what has been between them, are not things that are easily forgotten after all.

 

* * *

 

Does she need a chaperone, Victoria wonders. It seems ridiculous to think of such a thing on a day when she is abandoning her own wedding and running off to her Prime Minister’s country house in the hopes of persuading him to marry her.

But she still thinks it would be a comfort, and surely lend a bit of respectability to this whole clandestine operation, if she does not go quite alone to Brocket Hall.

Who to take, though. Harriet is with the bridesmaids and cannot be fetched without a fuss, Emma will surely already be at the Chapel Royal, if Lehzen knew of her plans she would be horrified and there are no other ladies she would trust with this.

She glances at Skerrett. The dresser is a little closed off about her own personal life but very loyal, and she has always given Victoria honest and sincere advice when asked for it.

  
“Skerrett,” she asks as she seals up her letters, “how would you feel about a carriage ride?”

“Where will we be going, Ma’am?” Skerrett questions.

“I wish to go to Brocket Hall,” Victoria says, glancing at her dresser to see what her response will be to such an answer.

Skerrett does not look horrified or shocked, which Victoria thinks is a good sign, “Lord Melbourne’s home?”

Victoria nods, “I have some … pressing matters to discuss with him.”

Her dresser nods with a knowing look in her eyes that tells Victoria she is quite aware that the matters she wishes to discuss are more personal than political, but her dresser gives her no censure for it, “a carriage ride will be lovely, Ma’am. I know a quieter route out of the palace if you wish to avoid any … inconvenient questions. And on the way we can pass your letters to Brodie to take to the Chapel Royal.”

“I would be most grateful for your assistance, Skerrett,” Victoria answers with a small smile.

She is starting to believe her plan might actually work.

 

* * *

 

The groom waits, the guests have arrived, the watching crowd grows restless outside, and the bride … the bride does not appear.

 

* * *

 

Half an hour more passes and the Queen does not arrive.

Brides, William is aware, are known for being late, yet this seems to be pushing past late and moving into more worrying territory.

What if there has been an accident on the way? What if she is ill?

Scenarios rush through William’s head, getting steadily more dramatic until he has to whack his leg with the heavy sword in his hand in order to jolt himself back to a sensible frame of mind.

 

It will be fine. Probably just a dress malfunction, or the crowds lining the street slowing her carriage down.

Nothing to worry about.

 

But when the boy appears next to him a few minutes later he knows somehow that things are not going to go to plan.

The Duke of Sussex is thankfully distracted and misses William’s exchange with the boy, a palace servant who has often brought letters to him at Dover House from the Queen or Emma Portman.

“For you, my Lord,” the boy holds out a thin envelope with _Lord M_ scribbled across it, “and,” he pauses a moment before holding out a much bulkier envelope with a simple _Albert_ written on it, “this one’s for the Prince, but I daren’t walk out there in front of all those important people – Mr Penge would skin me alive. Could you deliver it, my Lord?”

William has no idea who Mr Penge is, but the boy looks nervous and he knows most of the guests would be scandalised by a servant running around the Chapel Royal delivering messages, so he nods and resigns himself to being the bearer of bad news, for surely the appearance of the two notes rather than the Queen does not mean anything good.

“Thank you, my Lord,” the boy said with a relieved look on his face before vanishing speedily out of the door.

 

William’s attention is focused now on the envelope addressed to him.

His hands itch to open it even though he knows that what is contained within it will quite possibly bring chaos to the country and government.

After just a minute or two of hesitation, though, he rips open the envelope, curious and terrified to see what it might contain within it.

He finds just a single sheet of paper with only seven words written on it in the handwriting he knows so well.

 

_Like a rook, I mate for life._

 

And, suddenly, he knows exactly where the Queen is.

 

* * *

 

Victoria and Skerrett, thanks to the latter’s knowledge of the Buckingham Palace’s less public routes, make it down to their carriage without encountering anyone else.

They find a carriage and if the driver thinks it odd that the Queen and her dresser are going to Brocket Hall rather than St James’s Palace then he is wise enough, on seeing the resolute expression on Victoria’s face, not to say anything about it.

 

Victoria pauses for a moment as she walks towards the carriage.

Is she doing the right thing?

She knows that Lord M is the man she wants to marry above anyone else, including Albert. But she also knows that it will bring uproar to England, and she has always wanted to be the best Queen she can.

There is a line, though. She can bear this life, with all its duties and difficulties and responsibilities and sacrifice, but only with help.

She needs Lord M by her side.

And so she pushes away her hesitation and steps into the carriage.

 

* * *

 

The Duke of Wellington is thankfully sitting right next to one of the side entrances and none of the other guests notice William, the Sword of State hanging casually by his side, gesturing to the man.

Wellington leaves his seat with little fuss, for everyone’s eyes are glued to the back of the room, where they expect the bride to appear at any moment.

They are, William thinks, destined to be disappointed.

 

“You look as if you are about to be executed, Melbourne,” says Wellington.

“The Queen is not coming,” William tells the Duke bluntly.

Wellington seems entirely unruffled by William’s words, “yes, well I suppose I did wonder if she would. There will be a fuss but I suppose, Melbourne, that we can at least be confident that _you_ are not a Papist.”

William goes deathly white at the implication, “surely, sir, you do not think I would ever advise the Queen …”

“No, no, Melbourne,” Wellington looks almost jolly now, “I know you well enough to realise you do not seek to take advantage. And the Queen has her own mind – she is not the sort to be manipulated or dictated to, even by those she cares for.”

William is quite without words. Wellington is taking this all rather philosophically and it confuses him greatly.

He hands over the letter to the Duke, who takes a look at the name on the front and nods, “I will put this into the hands of the Prince, and you must find the Queen,” he looks at the single sheet of paper still in William’s hands, “as I assume you know her location.”

William only nods, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.

 

It is true that he has dreamed of this, a fantasy where the Queen refuses to marry the Prince, just as he has entertained some very silly ideas about objecting at the ceremony and one slightly disturbing dream about threatening the Prince with the Sword of State that he persists in trying to forget, but these have only ever been errant thoughts in his mind, never serious.

Yet now it has happened. The Queen is not getting married and her choice of Brocket Hall as a refuge is too telling to ignore.

 

He faces a true dilemma.

To stay aloof from the Queen for the sake of stability and preventing scandal … or to take the step they both so desperately want, but which could lead to dangerous unpopularity and revolution if not properly and carefully managed.

He has been Prime Minister for years and in politics for most of his adult life, but this, he thinks, will be the decision that defines him.

 

He walks slowly away from Wellington to his previous spot at the back of the Chapel Royal.

He could stay where he is and deny all knowledge of the Queen’s actions.

Yet what use is that? The Queen’s letter to Prince Albert looks to be lengthy and as she has always been a truthful, honest woman he imagines that she will feel it is only right to explain to the Prince why she is refusing to marry him. William does not really want to be present when his role (however unwitting) in the drama comes to light.

And it is a siren call, her note to him. He wants so badly to go to her even though he knows that what they both want may never come to pass.

He has spent so long resisting and he does not think he can do so any longer.

 

So, while Wellington hands Prince Albert the letter that will change everything, William slips out of the Chapel Royal.

To Brocket Hall. To his future, whatever it might be.

 

* * *

 

The carriage is quiet.

Victoria is caught up with her own thoughts and her dresser, sitting opposite, does not disturb her.

But Victoria breaks the silence after a while.

 

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Her voice sounds so small and she hates it, but Skerrett does not mock her for it the way uncle Cumberland would.

“The right thing, Ma’am?”

“By not getting married to Prince Albert.”

Skerrett pauses a moment before she speaks, “do you love the Prince, Ma’am?”

“No,” Victoria says immediately, “I think him very handsome and I thought … I really did think I loved him. I was trying so hard to like him, but I find …”

“You cannot force love, Ma’am,” Skerrett tells her.

“Quite,” Victoria agrees, for even in her most infatuated state there was still _something_ missing with Albert.

 

“And … Lord Melbourne,” Skerrett continues, “you like him?”

Victoria’s whole face lights up at the thought of dear Lord M, “oh yes, I could not do without Lord M. He is so good and clever and supportive, and he never talks to me like I am a child. I … I love him,” she admits softly.

“Then I think you are doing the right thing, Ma’am. To follow your heart can be a hard thing, and a very brave one.”

“Thank you,” says Victoria, her voice almost a whisper.

 

Her resolve is set. She will not turn back now.

 

* * *

 

William finds the Queen watching the rooks.

She looks up when she hears his footsteps and her expression is a little worried and guilty, “you aren’t cross with me, are you Lord M?”

“No, Ma’am,” he answers sincerely.

Maybe he should be. It will be rather a messy political situation to deal with, after all. But he finds it hard to be angry with the Queen, and if she has left Prince Albert because she does not believe she can happy with him then he will support her come hell or high water.

 

“I did not mean for things to turn out this way,” she says, “I think that maybe I was just pretending that everything was going well, that Albert was what I truly wanted. And then I tried to picture a life with him and I … I just could not see it – all I ever imagined was criticism and arguments and uncle Leopold hovering, and all I could think about this morning was how Albert makes me feel small and not strong, that he keeps pushing for titles and powers that I will not give him.”

She sighs, “I could not bear it, the idea of such a life.”

 

William cannot decide how to feel about the Queen’s revelations.

On one hand his heart rejoice. His head worries, however – calling off this marriage is an issue that can be dealt with, but if the Queen refuses to marry at all …

Who knows what turmoil such a thing might plunge the country into?

A voice in the back of his mind reminds him of Wellington’s implications, but he refuses to torture himself with that sort of hope.

 

“You are still young,” he tells her, “I am sure you will find someone worthy of you.”

She steps closer to him, “I do not want anyone else, though, Lord M. I only want you.”

“You know that such a thing is unwise, Ma’am, whatever we might feel.”

“You once told me that I should marry to please myself,” says the Queen, “are you now saying that I should ignore your advice, Lord M?”

“I …” he stutters out, the shock of the day’s events robbing him of his usual conversational abilities.

She raises an eyebrow and gives him a satisfied little smile that makes him laugh despite the seriousness of this whole situation and the likelihood that a crisis will soon develop centres around the Queen’s very public repudiation of her engagement.

He can admit that the particular piece of advice she is referring to is not something he will now deny. He wants her to be happy and the country to be secure, and he truly believes that the best way to achieve this is through a marriage that contains love, friendship and respect rather than an arranged political match.

But the advice, when he gave it, was intended to refer to Prince Albert and William’s belief that love could (and would) spring up between them.

Instead she has turned his own words around and now uses them against him in an attempt to overturn his reasoning for why a marriage between them is not possible.

Clever, frustrating girl.

How he adores her.

 

The facts, however, do remain.

The Queen has abandoned her wedding, and while it will not be the disaster it could have been had her husband-to-be been a prince of more wealth and power, there will still be diplomatic repercussions, especially considering the Coburg family’s place in many European royal houses.

King Leopold will fume and William has no doubt that, though the Queen’s decision is entirely her own, there will be talk of a Whig conspiracy.

It’s going to be a nightmare for the government. He wonders if it wouldn’t be better for him to resign now and save himself the Tory headache.

 

Not that he blames the Queen.

Better to back out now, after all, than find herself a few years in and dealing with the mess of a separation, made worse by it being a royal marriage and more complicated to reverse, especially if children were involved (and knowing of both the Coburg fertility and Leopold’s ambitions, William feels sure there would be children).

 

“Of course you should please yourself, Ma’am,” he says finally.

“And if it would please me to choose you, Lord M?”

“Ma’am,” he pleads, “surely you know that this cannot end well. I do not know if the government would ever accept it – you could be forced to abdicate.”

“Then I will abdicate and they will see how they like it with my uncle Cumberland on the throne!” she shouts.

“I will not let you ruin your life on my behalf,” he counters, his worry for her wellbeing countering his usual reluctance to argue so seriously with her.

“Let me!” she cries out, “I am the Queen of England and I will not be dictated to, not about this.”

“You could lose everything, Ma’am,” he whispers, “and I am not worth that.”

She takes his hands, “you are worth everything, Lord M. I am proud to be Queen and proud of my country … but I cannot do this without you. I _will not_ do it without you.”

 

She is so passionate and fierce, so wonderful.

He wants to marry her, would like nothing more than that.

Still, though, he thinks of the future of the country, of the constitution he has always upheld, of the Queen’s safety and security.

And he wonders if he can really take a leap into the unknown like this.

 

* * *

 

Victoria cannot stand the anticipation.

Lord M is silent and she can tell from his expression that he is deep in thought, but she is not sure she has much hope of the outcome she desires. He has seemed so against marrying her, and while she is sure it is more out of concern for her position as Queen and the security of the realm rather than a lack of feelings towards her, it still does not bode well.

 

She drops his hands and moves her own to cup his face so that he is looking directly at her.

She cannot wait much longer. She has to know.

“Do you love me, Lord M?”

He nods, “of course I do, Ma’am, but I must still –”

She cuts off his words by leaning up to press her lips to his. A brief but immensely satisfying kiss despite his clear surprise at her action.

She breaks away and smiles, “you love me, Lord M, and I love you. Isn’t everything else just details?”

 

“You are … quite intoxicating, Ma’am,” he says a little hoarsely after a few moments.

There is a dazed look in his eyes but a grin beginning on his face and she thinks all is well.

“I think you may call me Victoria,” she tells him, “after all, we are to be married, are we not?”

She feels a little nervous as she voices her question, concerned that even after all this he will still hesitate out of a sense of duty.

 

She need not have worried.

He leans down until there is less than an inch of space between their faces.

“I believe we will … Victoria.”

And then their lips meet once more, for a far longer kiss that has her gripping his arms tightly and wondering how she ever thought that what was between her and Albert was true passion.

This – her and Lord M together – is everything she has ever wanted, and her heart is finally satisfied.

 

* * *

_One year later_

The Privy Council and parliament, with a mix of disgust and resignation (and, on the part of a few of their good friends, pleasure), give their assent to the marriage of Queen Victoria and Viscount Melbourne.

The Whigs lose power, but thankfully few of them blame either the Queen or their former leader for the situation, instead focusing on their favourite pastime of arguing vigorously about every motion the Tories put forward.

 

Sir Robert Peel, the new Prime Minister, takes the whole situation well enough. The Queen with Melbourne by her side is far easier for him to work with, and though he feels the ex-Prime Minister is not a suitable husband for the Queen of England, he admits that the man seems genuinely in love with his wife-to-be and content to now keep away from politics.

They would never have granted him the title of King Consort, but he never asks for it, and seems almost put out by the Dukedom they reluctantly bestow to make him a more respectable husband for their Queen.

It is not an ideal situation, Peel thinks, but the Queen needs a husband and they have been quite forcefully informed by Her Majesty that it is Melbourne or no one at all … and nobody wants to see the Duke of Cumberland on the throne.

 

King Leopold fumes and lectures to no avail, but he finds a bride for Albert soon enough – not nearly so grand a match as the Queen of England but far more suited to the Prince and with a dowry that will keep them both comfortable.

Ernest, on the other hand, resists all attempts at matchmaking, his stubbornness on the subject a match even for Leopold’s scheming.

 

The people accept their Queen’s choice with more warmth than many of the Privy Councillors expect.

Lord Melbourne is an Englishman, after all, not a foreigner.

They like a good love story, too, especially one made more dramatic and romantic by Melbourne’s action of shielding the Queen (putting his own life in peril while doing so) when a madman takes a shot at them while they are out driving a few months into their engagement.

 

And then there is Victoria and her Lord M.

They marry almost a year to the day of her aborted wedding to Prince Albert.

She wears the same dress, but instead of the sapphire brooch she has returned to Albert there is a silver one depicting two rooks nestled together.

Her head is crowned not by a tiara but by a wreath of flowers grown in the Brocket Hall greenhouses.

She is nervous, but it is an excited kind of nervous, and she glows with happiness.

 

They meet at the altar, she a vision in her dress and he so splendid in the Windsor uniform.

Their eyes meet and the world vanishes.

They are only William and Victoria. Man and wife.

And all is just as it ought to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> And for those who might have noticed it, the dream Lord M thinks briefly about, in which he threatens Albert with the Sword of State, was inspired by a Radio Times quote following the wedding episode, which stated that Lord M carried the Sword of State in real life as he did in the show, but that ‘We’re guessing the real life Melbourne didn’t look as though he wanted to chop Albert’s head off with it.’


End file.
